


Take A Seat

by yeahloads



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon-ish, First Time Face-Sitting, Hand-Wavey Relationship Status, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahloads/pseuds/yeahloads
Summary: Harry has never sat on anyone's face before, and Nick is eager to remedy that.





	Take A Seat

**Author's Note:**

> So when I was doing prompts the other night, I started this without realizing that it wasn't even requested. But I liked it so much that I decided to finish it! 
> 
> Basically, for this fic, I'd like to imagine that Nick is the first guy that Harry ever does anything sexual with, further than making out and that sort of stuff. So Nick kinda has to... teach him the ropes, if you will. They've covered quite a bit so far, but there are a few things they haven't tried. Cue Harry sitting on Nick's face and being nervous about it. Ta daaaa!
> 
> Thanks again to Madelyn for beta'ing! Come talk to me on tumblr @ harryseyebrows (:

“What if I hurt you?” Harry asks. His cheeks are pink.

“You’re not gonna hurt me. Now — ”

“Seriously, Nick. I’m — I’m heavy.”

Nick sighs and pushes himself up from where he was slouched against the pillows, ready to go. “You’re not heavy.  _ Frustratingly _ , despite eating your weight in McDonald’s the other day, you still look the same. But Harry, love. If you really don’t want to do this then we don’t have to. You just have to say so.”

Harry picks at the duvet. He’s very far away from Nick right now, sitting with his legs folded in an attempt at modesty as naked as he is, but not far enough that Nick can’t reach out and touch his knee, resting a hand there in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. 

Nick never thought that Harry would be this timid in bed. Nick actually isn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but he supposes the whole point is that he never expected  _ anything _ . As far as Nick was concerned, up until about four months ago, Harry only liked girls. But then Harry had asked Nick if he could jerk him off, when they were about to go to sleep one night, and everything changed under the covers and a shield of city darkness. 

Things moved quickly from there. Not that night, specifically, but over the coming weeks. Nick hasn’t had that much sex in such a short span of time in his entire life. He’s been certain lately that his dick is actually in danger of falling off if they’re not careful. And Harry has been eager to try anything and everything. 

Until now, that is. 

Harry still isn’t looking at him, but he doesn’t move away from Nick’s hand, letting it rest there and ignoring him when Nick starts to sweep his thumb in tiny back-and-forth motions. 

“You like it when girls do it to you, right?” Nick tries.

Harry regards him carefully from under his lashes, brows furrowed. “Yes,” he hesitates. 

“Then it’ll be exactly like that for me. Well, not exactly, but you get the idea. And lucky you  — you get to be on the opposite end of things for once. Exciting, innit?” Nick is seconds away from doing jazz hands.

Biting his red bottom lip, slightly swollen from kissing earlier, Harry still looks unconvinced. “Are you sure? I mean — are you sure that I won’t, like, break your face or something?”

Nick rolls his eyes, lips curling into a small smile. “Positive.”

“Okay,” Harry says. He looks like he’s steeling himself for something, ready to go into battle and not do something enjoyable that should hopefully result in orgasms all around. Nick would laugh at him if he wasn’t worried about spooking him further. 

Harry swings a leg over Nick’s chest, keeping eye contact the entire time, which Nick suspects is for guidance more than anything else. With both knees wedged firmly into Nick’s armpits, Harry opens his mouth to speak and shuts it quickly, a frown quickly taking over his feature while he figures out his logistical error.

Nick stops him before he can throw another mini-tantrum. “We can do it this way, if you want. You might have to lean a bit. Get creative and put those yoga abs to good use. But if it suits you, it’s much easier if you face the other way.” He strokes Harry’s flank gently.

Harry sighs, short and quick, his features schooled carefully to make himself look indifferent. But his eyes give him away, showing just how genuinely nervous he is and the way he’s kicking himself for not knowing. Still, he gets himself settled, nearly beheading Nick with a rogue calf while he turns around so that his arse is like the bright, east-rising sun directly in front of his face. 

“Nice view,” Nick says, pinching Harry’s hip lightly, where he carries a bit of weight that never seems to go away.

“Shut up,” Harry says, and Nick can imagine his red, embarrassed face, but also his smile that reveals he’s secretly pleased.

It’s a testament to Nick’s self-control, how slow he starts, because he wants to ease Harry into things. Nick has very strong opinions on the side of working at a steady pace, unhurried and easy, so that the end result is that much better. But he always wants to go full-steam-ahead when getting his mouth on Harry is on the table.

He starts by just dragging the tips of his fingers over Harry’s arse cheeks, light and barely touching, delighting in the way his skin breaks out in gooseflesh in their wake. He’s pale and milky white here, in sharp contrast to the rest of his body, which is lightly tanned and freckled in some spots, courtesy of the Malibu sun. 

The orange glow of the lamp on the bedside table highlights the tiny blonde hairs that cover the entire expanse of him, and when Nick thumbs at his cleft, it just barely reveals a splash of darker hair that Nick knows is there. They’re not strangers to this  — Nick has licked him out now more times than he can count. But it’s still just as exciting as the first time. 

What’s not so exciting is the way the line of Harry’s back is tense, muscles bunched and tight. He’s holding himself back, despite his faintly labored breathing and trembling thighs. It’s clear that his body wants it, but he’s in his head too much. 

Nick keeps his voice soft. “Harry, sweetheart. You can relax. You don’t have to hold yourself up like that.”

“Sorry,” Harry says in a single breath. “Sorry. I…”

Sometimes Harry responds better to direct instructions, when he’s not in the mood to be impish and misbehaved. “Why don’t you have a lie down, then? Just — yeah, like that. Better?”

Harry hums his approval, uncoiling like a spring. With his shoulders and upper body resting across Nick’s hips, it has the added effect of spreading him open, legs parted wider to accommodate the stretch of his body. Nick can feel him fiddling with his arms and hands a bit, until he settles on gripping Nick’s thighs, face tucked neatly into his own shoulder, eyes closed.

He’s very warm and a pleasant type of heavy, like a weighted blanket that’s also heated. But a sexy one, that has a lovely dick that’s still half-hard, despite everything, and a pink, clenching hole that Nick would very much like to kiss. 

Biting his lip in anticipation, Nick still waits, keeping up the steady massage of Harry’s arse and thighs, kneading appropriately, digging his nails in when he sees fit, mouth watering at the sight of Harry’s skin blooming a faint red, lines and tiny crescents. 

With the way he’s laying, Harry’s dick is grazing Nick’s belly, bobbing under its own weight. Even when he’s stood up and fully hard, the angle isn’t quite upright, more of a right rather than an acute. Nick likes to joke and call it a leash, with the way it sticks out and makes it look like he’s being led by it. Harry sees the humor in it sometimes, depending on the day. 

But Nick isn’t in the mood for jokes right now. He’s not even in the mood to tease, when he notices the way Harry is shifting his hips on purpose, so his dick rubs up against Nick’s stomach with increasing pressure and frequency. Nick lets him  — even though his own dick has been thoroughly ignored so far  — in favor of sliding another pillow under his head and leaning forward.

Without craning his neck uncomfortably, he still needs Harry to sit back a bit, so Nick fits his fingers into the front creases of Harry’s hips and shifts him closer to his face. There. Good to go.

Harry doesn’t taste much of anything, aside from skin and, well… faintly of arse. Because it’s near unavoidable here. He washed earlier, emerging from Nick’s bathroom in a cloud of coconut and mango, dripping all over the floor because he’s actually a six-foot Great Dane puppy, with a hair shake to prove it.

Nick is happy that Harry chose not to shave, though. The slight roughness under his tongue when Nick lays down his first broad swipe creates a sensation he quite likes, especially when it’s paired with Harry moaning into his thigh. Shaving always poses the risk of razor burn and other unpleasant things, and while the temporary smooth skin can be nice, having Harry be comfortable will always win out in Nick’s mind. Waxing, though… that could be fun. Nick sets that thought aside for a rainy day.  

Even with a singular task like this, Nick always finds himself drifting, not because he doesn’t enjoy doing it, but because it offers so many avenues of thought, particularly about the arse in front of him. Like how he very much wants to get his tongue in there, maybe a finger or two. But Harry still isn’t loose enough. His hips are moving with stilted bucks, like he’s afraid to move too much, and that just won’t do. 

Nick separates from his hole with a dirty wet sound, like lips parting after a kiss but exponentially hotter. Harry whimpers softly. 

“You can move,” Nick offers. “Like, you can quite literally ride my face.”

Harry chokes on his breath. When he glances over his shoulder at Nick, his eyes are slightly wet. 

Instead of asking what’s wrong, now well-accustomed to Harry’s bedroom habits and penchant for getting teary when overwhelmed, Nick guides Harry gently but firmly. “Here. Sit up straight — like that. Now hold yourself open for me.”

Harry does as told, shaky fingers pulling his arse apart while he hovers over Nick’s waiting mouth, hesitating. 

Nick meets him halfway, stretching his neck and pointing his tongue, effectively making Harry drop and tremble. He makes very solid contact with Nick’s nose for a second but jumps up again, whining miserably and mumbling a quick, “Sorry.”

Nick pulls him down again, perhaps more roughly than intended. “ _ Sit _ .” 

Harry’s hands must be sweating, as they keep slipping off his arse, but ever determined, he readjusts and keeps himself spread. Still being mindful not to crush Nick, he lowers himself, and Nick can tell that he’s working hard to stay relaxed. “Okay,” Harry says breathily. “Okay.”

With his own hands free, Nick can exercise his multi-tasking skills. He makes his tongue wide and flat, letting things get wet but not sloppy, while he reaches around to Harry’s front to palm at his cock. It is comforting to know that Harry’s still enjoying himself despite his obvious apprehension. His dick is hot and rigid, slightly wet from where he’s leaking out of the slit. Nick doesn’t wrap his hand around him, but instead, sandwiches Harry’s cock between his palm and his own belly. 

Harry is a quick study. They establish an easy volley where Nick only has to do minimal work, letting his tongue and lips take the brunt of it, while Harry oscillates between circling his hips for Nick’s mouth and pushing up and forward so that his dick can rut against the soft pressure of Nick’s hand and the soft skin of his stomach. 

It’s wonderful, how Nick can feel the exact moment that Harry finally gives himself over fully to all of the good sensations. He moans loudly and freely, the line of his back straightening as he pushes his chest up, like a string attached to his ribs is pulling him to the ceiling. His thighs soften, and while the new heaviness on Nick’s face is alarming for a fraction of a second, he quickly adjusts and gives back as good as he’s getting, pushing his tongue past the ring of muscle while Harry goes loose and pliant. 

“Yes,” Harry nearly sobs, letting go of his arse to tug at his own hair.

Feeling Harry clench around his tongue almost makes Nick’s brain short-circuit. The sounds alone are better than any porn in existence, slick skin against slick skin, stuttered breathing and rustling sheets. Every time Nick prods at him, Harry’s silky insides twitch like they want him to stay there, sucking at his tongue while he pulls away, only for Nick to dive back in again. 

There’s French kissing and then there’s  _ this _ .

Harry is restless in the best way, hips moving rapidly and out of his control. Nick gives his sore jaw a break, pausing to place kisses on Harry’s supple skin, digging his teeth in, thinking about leaving a mark or two, leaving shiny saliva trails in his wake. He catches Harry plucking at his own chest, clawing at his own thighs, like he has no idea what to do with himself. 

Harry’s dick is leaking more steadily now, and Nick has to work hard to keep his hand from slipping completely away when he gets his tongue back in his hole. Eventually Nick decides to just wrap his hand around him, making sure his grip isn’t too tight so that Harry can continue to thrust. The garbled response Nick gets makes him smile, cheeks bumping up against the cheeks of Harry’s arse. 

But evidently Harry’s not so out of it after all. He picks up Nick's neglected cock, and — with a surprising bit of coordination — manages to jerk Nick off with his non-dominant hand to avoid any unnecessary bumping. 

Nick moans against Harry’s hole, loud and open-mouthed, and the resulting vibration must catch him off guard because Harry shivers and clenches up tight, coming all over Nick’s fist quickly and devastatingly, going completely silent before he lets out a cacophony of noises that make him sound like he’s dying.

For a moment, Harry sits down on him so firmly that Nick can’t breathe. But after a minor adjustment, he’s able to take in a decent gulp of air, panting against warm skin, still very much on the edge with his cock in Harry’s now-loose grip.

Nick gives him a moment to recover before gently nudging him. “Harry…”

With a final full-body shudder, Harry apologizes. “ _ Jesus _ . Sorry. Sorry, I’ll — ” He peeks over his shoulder, making sure that he hasn’t done any bodily harm, and resumes the nice twist of his wrist that Nick prides himself on having taught him.

“Fuck,” Nick nearly wheezes. “Fuck, shit.  _ Harry _ .”

Harry scoots down so he’s straddling Nick’s chest, giving Nick the opportunity to enjoy the full view in front of him while he simply lets himself  _ feel  _ Harry’s ministrations, Harry’s broad shoulders and trim waist effectively blocking what he’s doing. It’s heady and wonderful and Nick could spend the rest of his life in this very bed if he got to have this every day. 

If Nick is well-versed in what Harry likes by now, Harry is equally well-versed in what Nick likes, squeezing at the top making sure his grip is just the right amount of tight. Harry’s kept his rings on as well, so Nick keeps getting grazes of body-warm metal. After a few more moments of adept stroking, Nick comes with his hips raising up off the sheets, his thighs tensing, mind going blank for a moment. 

Harry slows his pumping hand and angles things just-so, managing to get a perfect spatter all up his belly and chest, giving a small moan like  _ he’s  _ the one coming.

While Nick is still breathing heavy, pleasant tingles making their way through his veins, Harry reaches back with his clean hand and blindly pets Nick’s cheek, nearly poking his eye out. Nick barely flinches.

“Giving Pollock a run for his money,” Harry says, the smirk evident in his voice, wiggling his newly-shiny fingers.

Nick lets out a half snort. “And he’s a comedian, ladies and gentlemen.”

If Harry was nervous before, there’s no trace of it now, when he shifts so that he can lie lengthwise next to Nick, curling an arm around him and smiling devilishly as he presses his come-streaked front against Nick’s side. In retaliation, Nick swipes the hand covered in Harry’s come over his hip. 

Harry squawks but doesn’t move away. 

“So much for showering earlier.”

“That’s what you get for being a dirty boy.”

The flush still hasn’t left Harry’s cheeks, but it re-intensifies at Nick’s words. He looks like he wants to say something.

Nick doesn’t push him. Instead he assures, “I really liked doing that with you.”

It all feels a bit clunky, when he thinks it’s quite obvious that he enjoyed it, Harry wearing the evidence to prove it. Except he knows that Harry likes to hear these sorts of things. He’s not one to ask for it outright, but he instead of wearing his heart on his sleeve, he has it plastered across his forehead like a billboard. And Nick isn’t one to leave him in the dark.

Harry’s smile proves him right. 

“I liked it, too. I like everything we do together. I just — I don’t know. Sometimes it feels weird at first. No — not like, physically weird. Or sensation weird.” He pinches his bottom lip like he does when he’s thinking. “Emotionally weird? But that’s not right either. Just — weird. But I appreciate how you don’t, like, get annoyed with me.”

Nick nods thoughtfully. “Could never get annoyed with you,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “Especially with an arse like that.” Nick pinches said arse, laughing when Harry jumps. 

Harry cuddles closer to him, giving a pleased wiggle. “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

They both catch their breath fully, and once their heart rates have settled and their skin has cooled off enough to warrant a blanket, Harry un-glues them from each other and reluctantly ventures into the en suite. Nick hears the tap as Harry wets a washcloth for them both. 

After being thoroughly scrubbed clean by Harry’s attentive hands, Nick catches his wrist and places a sweet kiss where his skin is the thinnest and his pulse is thumping steadily.

Out of all the things they’ve done so far, that simple gesture makes Harry the shiest, ducking his head and trying to hide his smile. 

But in a moment of boldness, with one knee on the bed, he leans down and — seemingly unafraid of tasting himself — kisses Nick solidly on the mouth, sliding his tongue inside and brushing against Nick’s tongue.

He eyes Nick knowingly when they part, sliding his arm out of Nick’s grip and sauntering off back into the bathroom without another word. 

He’ll be the death of Nick yet. But first, they have an episode of Bake Off to finish. 


End file.
